Friendly Fire
by Simon920
Summary: Sergeant Dick Grayson runs afoul of some of his fellow BPD officers.


Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

**Friendly Fire**

**Tonight**

"Doctor? We have an injured BPD officer on his way in." The ER doctor on duty was in the midst of sewing up a kid's gashed knee, victim of a bike skidding on a gravel driveway. "Put it on speaker."

The radio report from the ambulance came from overhead. "Male, twenty-three, three bullet wounds, two superficial, one in the left arm, one in the right leg, both went through, minor damage. Third bullet is to the upper left chest quadrant. Bullet is still in victim. BP 100 over 60 and dropping. Patient is unconscious. Shock. Probable internal bleeding.

"ETA?"

"Three minutes."

**Last Week**

"I think this is a stupid idea, man—you get busted and you're screwed big time."

"Ain't happenin'."

"It could."

"Nobody likes a snitch. _No_ body."

"Yeah, well you end up with a body and there's gonna be hell to pay."

"Yeah, sure, whatever. C'mon, you in or not?" He paused for effect, "Because of you ain't after this , then we're gonna hafta talk about things, my nervous friend."

The smaller man didn't like this—it was dangerous and dumb and he hated dangerous more than anything, especially when he was the one who was looking to take the fall. But now he knew what they wanted to do and they knew he knew so that meant that he had no choice so… "I guess…"

"Good. Now pay attention…"

**Six Months Ago**

Dick Grayson knew something was up; any idiot would know that with both eyes closed and his ears stuffed with cotton. The thing he didn't know was what specifically was going on and that was the key. He'd thought things were going better at work—he'd just gotten a promotion, in fact and he had the sergeant's stripes to prove it.

He'd made sergeant at twenty-three, and he was pretty sure that was a record for the BPD. He was the youngest cop to manage it that he knew of, anyway. In practice what it meant was a little more money, that he had less time to work cases and about ten times more paperwork to do, plus he had the resentment of the thirty-five year old cops who were still pounding a beat and getting passed over year after year.

Sure, he knew there was resentment building up—no forty-year-old wants to take orders from someone half their age, but—hell, suck it up.

But Dick was a long way from naïve. He knew he needed to watch his back.

**Three Weeks Ago**

"Just be careful, Dick. I know you can take care of yourself but this is something different for you so, please…Alfred worries, okay? Take it easy for his sake, will you?"

"Sure, you know me, I'm always careful." He smiled, making light the way he did when something was important and he knew people were worried about him, especially when Bruce pretended that he was just protecting Alf. "So, dinner next week?"

"Meet me after the Board meeting on Thursday, we can try that new French place that just opened."

"'New French place? C'mon, Bruce—Harrigan's for steak."

Bruce pretended annoyance, though he was hoping Dick would pick up on the game. Of course he'd rather have a steak instead of a soufflé. "You have any idea how much cholesterol there is in one of those damn things?"

"Not like a damn soufflé, right? Add in the butter on the potato and the beer along with the piece of dead cow and we'll be lucky to survive the meal."

"Fine, Harrigan's and try to make it on time for once." Dick gave a half laugh/smile and nodded as he headed for the door. "And I was serious about being careful; you know I don't like you working undercover without any backup down there. Bad odds."

Dick gave him one of his 'I realize you're worried and I wish you'd drop it' looks. "I'll be fine; no one thinks I'm there to clean out the crap and as far as anyone knows I'm just some wet behind the ears rookie."

"Who made sergeant in record time and is getting a rep as a sharp cop who's cleaning up your precinct. I mean it; you watch your back and don't be too proud to call in the Titans or the JLA if you need them."

**Two Years Ago**

"I don't give a rat's ass who your daddy is, junior. You work with me, you do what _I _say—you got that?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I hear you."

"And you pull any coming in late shit because your social life is more important to you than your job, you'll be outta her so fast your rich little head will spin. Questions?"

"Just who drives?"

"Me. Always. Get in, shut up and don't annoy me."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Don't smart mouth me, kid." There was something about the new kid which rubbed Amy Rohrbach wrong and it bothered her—sure, he was a rich kid who'd bought his badge, but it was more than that. Why the hell would a kid like him want to be a damn cop? Didn't make sense.

"No, Ma'am."

**Tonight**

"The ambulance with the cop is here."

"We're getting calls from the media and the Mayor wants to come in."

"Deal with it."

They had examining cubicle number seven prepped and ready for the cop when he was wheeled in on the gurney, three more cops following at a run and two police cruisers parked outside followed by four police motorcycles roaring up. The parking area looking like a nightclub with flashing red and blue lights, police radios crackling indecipherably.

"BP?"

"90 over 55 and dropping. Pulse 125."

"Start saline and get x-ray down here now. Who's on call for surgery tonight?"

"Bill Albanese, he's on his way. OR number two is being prepped."

The senior nurse, Diane was there, doing her job. She'd been an ER nurse for over twenty years and she hated when cops were brought in, almost as much as she hated when kids were here and you knew there was no way they were going to make it. "He's just a baby."

Ashley, one of the other nurses too a second to look at his face as she cut his uniform off him. "They said twenty-three."

Diane just shook her head. "A baby."

**Two Weeks Ago**

"I'm telling you, Dick, I've heard things and you need to be careful."

"I'm always careful, Amy, you know me."

"That's what I'm worried about." She poured some milk into her coffee. "I'm serious. Wear your vest, okay?"

He passed on the box of donuts for an apple and a bottled water. "I do wear the vest, and I always watch my back, okay?" He turned on the smile but this time she wasn't buying.

"Bullshit, Dick—some of the boys are pretty pissed that you jumped to sergeant ahead of them and you're getting a rep as a Boy Scout—not a good thing around here. You're making trouble for yourself, kid."

He knew that and he also knew that there was a contract being negotiated for taking him down. His files had been rifled and both his car and his bike had been vandalized in the precinct lot. On one hand that sucked but on the other it meant he was getting close and had them running scared. "Don't worry about me, Amy. I know what I'm doing."

She shook her head. "I hope so, but I doubt it."

**Last Month**

Two cops talking.

"So we're agreed?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure. No problem."

They both jumped when a rat pushed over an empty beer bottle, causing the thing to shatter to loudly in the tight alley.

"And make sure no one can tie us to…"

"No shit, okay? Like I was going to sign a note and leave it—I ain't dumb, y'know."

"I'll believe that when this thing is finished."

**Two and a Half Years Ago**

"I still don't understand why, in the name of God you wanted to do this—and to do it _this_ way. Unbelievable."

Dick didn't bother to answer. He knew Bruce didn't get it and wasn't surprised but a simple 'well done' or 'call me if you need some help' would have been a nice change.

"Incredible—do you have any idea the danger you're putting yourself into with this hair-brained scheme? And the chances of it succeeding are, well, not terrific. I wish you'd talked this over with me before you went ahead with…"

Alfred walked in with his usual psychic timing.

"Master Dick, if I may say how terribly proud I am of you at this moment. You have chosen a difficult course for yourself but I've every confidence in you and know you'll continue to make all of us proud." Alfred put a warm hand on Dick's shoulder. They were in a nondescript reception hall immediately after BPD's latest police graduation. Dick was one of seventy-three new officers and he'd be getting his assignment later that day. It didn't matter where he ended up; the entire force was corrupt and his goal was to clean out the rot from the inside.

Bruce thought he was making a mistake and had voiced his opinion since the day he found out Dick had passed the application process.

**Tonight**

"He's stopped breathing."

"Bag him."

**Sixteen Years Ago**

It was rehearsal. They were between the matinee and the evening performance and John Grayson wanted to go through the quad a few more times but, "John, please, he's too young for this. I think we should wait a year or two. Please."

"He'll be fine, Mary—won't you, Dick? You know what to do; first get the height which will give you the speed. Wait for the peak and start your tuck as you let go of the bar. Make sure the tuck is a s tight as you can make it. Spin, spin, spin, spin and straighten out and I'll be there to catch you. You've got all the pieces, now we just have to put them together. Okay? Let's try it."

Dick waited till he had the needed height, not looking at the sawdust fifty feet below the apex of his swing. At the moment of weightlessness he let go of the bar, pulled his legs up and grabbed his knees, letting the spin begin and pushing it through, almost too fast to count the rotations. His innate sense of spatial perception let him know when he was done and he straightened out to feel the instant slap of his father's hands on his wrists, holding him in a vise grip until his feet were safely back on the platform. He heard the sound of thin applause coming from the rest of the cast and the roustabouts below.

The quad—he'd done the quad!

**Last Night**

"He's supposed to be on that coke bust down at the docks tomorrow night. It's perfect."

"I don't know…"

"Excuse me? You getting cold feet?"

"It ain't that, it's just that he's a sergeant and he's a good guy. I don't see why we can't just scare him or let him in for a few bucks so he'll shut up. I don't see why we have to off him."

"Fifteen years in a fucking jail cell sound like a good enough reason?"

"I dunno, Jake, I'm getting a bad feeling about this…"

"He's suspicious, I'm sure of it and so that means that he's gonna go talk to someone; maybe the captain, maybe the papers, maybe his rich daddy—you wanna deal with that?"

"No, but why do we hafta kill him? I mean…"

"You in or you out? Cause if you're out I wanna know about it right now, Chickenshit." It was a clear threat and Billy didn't do well with threats.

"Yeah, Jake, I'm in. You know I'm in."

"Good, cause you were makin' me kinda nervous and I hate that—and you change your mind, you'll take the fall, you hear me?"

"Yeah, sure. I hear you."

"We're gonna be workin' with him—the Captain made sure of that so it should be easy enough…"

**This Afternoon**

"Hey Sarge, you wanna get a brew when we get outta here?"

Dick looked up from his paperwork and glanced at his watch. 4:30. The shift ended in an hour and then he was going to get a quick dinner and prep for the bust down by the docks. Word was that a shipment of over nine hundred kilos of high-grade cocaine was expected and the plan was to stop it and make a bunch o'busts. Timetable on that was about seven-thirty. Three hours from now.

None of the other cops were supposed to know and he'd be working as Sergeant Grayson tonight instead of Nightwing. Grayson would be in the standard gear—helmet, bulletproof vest and would be armed (not that he'd ever used his gun in the line of duty).

He knew a few of the dirtier cops in the precinct were involved and so he hoped to nab them as well—he'd been doing his homework on this for a couple of months and the evidence was almost locked up. All he needed was tonight and they'd be in cells with cases so tight even a Bludhaven cop would be hard pressed to let them go. Add to that the fact that both Jimmy Olsen and Clark had promised him high profile articles with follow ups to make sure t didn't get swept under the official rug and things would be good.

He'd been making drug busts since he was ten years old. This wasn't anything new and he knew what to watch out for.

He'd be fine.

"Thanks, Steve but I think I'd better catch up on this backlog; another time, okay?"

"Sure, no problem."

**Fourteen Years Ago**

"C'mon, Dick, _think. _You've just entered the warehouse. It's pitch dark. You don't hear anything, but you saw three men go in ten minutes before you. What do you conclude?"

"That they're hiding?"

"_Think_."

He tried, he really did. The men went into the building and now they weren't there so that meant…they were hiding or they'd left or they were in a section he didn't know about. Maybe they'd figured out that Batman and Robin were on to them and had set them up. Maybe it meant they were waiting to spring some kind of a trap on them right this minute.

"What you do? What are your options?"

"Um, leave?"

Batman waited for something else.

"Turn on the lights so we can see them?"

"And then they'd see us as well."

Uh, yeah. Wait for back up? Call the cops? Or…of course, you nitwit—"Use the heat scanner and look for body images."

"Good. And then?"

"Find out what weapons they may have by using the night goggles, disarm them and then take them down."

The Bat almost smiled. "_Now_ you're thinking."

**Tonight**

"Wayne residence."

"This is Captain Nelson from the BPD. Is Mr. Wayne available?"

Alfred went cold; his voice remained as detached as ever. "I'm afraid he's unable to come to the phone at the moment, may I give him a message?"

"Are you a relative?"

"No, I'm not. Might I ask the reason for your call?"

"I'm afraid I need to speak to a family member of Sergeant Grayson's. Would you please have him call this number as soon as he gets your message?"

Ten minutes later, call made, Bruce and Alfred were on their way to Rabe Memorial in the heart of Bludhaven.

Dick was on his way to surgery to remove a bullet lodged close to his heart. He had internal damage and massive blood loss.

"Why the hell wasn't he wearing his vest?"

"The officers with him said that he was, sir."

**Five Years Ago**

"Alfred, did Dick call this afternoon?"

"Yes, sir, he informed me that he regrets that he won't make it down this weekend but perhaps next week."

"Why? I thought it was all planned."

Alfred allowed himself a small smile. "I believe it involves a young woman named 'Lori'."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Indeed."

"Did he say what they'd be doing that's so important?"

"Neither of us discussed the details of their plans, no."

Bruce actually smiled, "Hey, that's great, good for him—a chip off the old block."

"Let us sincerely hope not."

**This Morning**

"Dick, I'm getting a bad vibe about this—I think they're on to you. I wish you'd wait for more back up or that you'd at least pick your own men to be with you." She stood in front of him in the back hallway, blocking his escape. "In fact, I'll go."

"No, you won't. You have Kevin's birthday tonight and you know you'll never let me forget it if you miss it just to cover my back."

He was stubborn and she suspected he'd done stuff like this before but still—it was so dangerous and he didn't seem to understand the lengths the others would go to stop him if they thought he was about to blow the whistle.

"Don't be a damn martyr, all that gets you is dead, Dick."

He smiled, laughed. "God, you've really been watching way the hell to many soap operas." His smile softened. "I'll be fine."

"Maybe some of your friends—you know, your _friends_ could help tonight."

"My _friends_ have their own business to attend to. Not to worry, okay? I'll see you tomorrow."

"Count on it." At least she hoped so. She knew, well, she suspected what he was doing and moreover, she suspected who he was at night. She had mixed feelings but he was making a difference and—Jesus—Bludhaven all the help it could get.

**Two Years Ago**

"So what d'ya make a year, my man? Forty thou? Fifty? You have a house your wife is proud of? You drivin' a car which ain't gonna crap out on you every time it rains? How about your kids—three, ain't it? So you think you're gonna be able to send 'em to some fancy college so they can get their asses outta the Haven and have a real life? You play ball with me and you can, my friend."

"The higher ups are watching. Get caught and…"

"You get caught and you know what happens? Nuthin' happens, that's what happens."

Jake caught the drift but, "You mean the Commish is on the take? Shit—I never woulda thought…I mean he always seemed so straight arrow."

"He knows where his bread is buttered. Now, you wanna play ball wit us or you wanna keep living on credit and waitin' for retirement in twenty years?"

Jake hesitated. He wasn't a crooked cop. He wasn't as crooked as most of the guys, anyway but this was so damn much money. He could take Mary on a cruise this winter and the kids could go someplace better than City College. Hell, he might even get that new hunting rifle he was eyeballin'… "Yeah, okay. Sure." He rubbed his hand over his face as if trying to wipe away the dirt. "Yeah, I'll do it."

"I knew you were a smart one, my man. You won't be sorry."

Jake had his doubts.

**Tonight**

"You mean that cop is Bruce Wayne's son? Ohmigod."

"He isn't to be disturbed, is that understood? I'll deal with him personally." The head of the hospital had offered his own office to Mr. Wayne so that the press or gawkers wouldn't bother him while he waited for news about his son. The initial reports were that the two bullets to his limbs were minor but the one lodged in his chest was potentially fatal if the thing shifted. It was close to his sternum and if he moved the wrong way the kid could seize up with instant cardiac arrest.

He took a breath before knocking on his office door. Rich or poor, parents all reacted the same when this kind of thing happened. They waited. They prayed if that was their inclination. They asked how this could have happened. They begged for reassurance that their relative would be all right, that the doctors were the best for the job, that everything would go well and by morning they'd see their loved one sitting up eating a good meal and chafing to get back to work.

In fact, it sounded like the kid could go either way.

Wayne was sitting in his leather chair behind his desk, turned towards the window and staring out, obviously seeing nothing. The old man—the kid's grandfather? Whatever, he was on the couch, sitting as though he was in a straight-backed chair and doing his best to keep his composure. Neither spoke or acknowledged him.

"Can I get you anything? Coffee? Would you like some food brought in?"

Wayne didn't move, the old man answered. "No, thank you. Is there any word yet?"

The director shook his head. "As soon as we know anything you'll be informed." He turned to leave them alone but paused. "I've had the switchboard hold your calls but we've heard from the mayor of Gotham and Commissioner Gordon. I believe they both said they'd were on their way. If you'd rather not be disturbed, I understand."

"Very kind of you, thank you."

And if they managed to save Wayne's kid then maybe there'd be a new wing for this dump for them on Wayne's grateful dime.

**A Week Ago**

"You know I have more faith in you than just about anyone on this planet, but I think you're being a little foolhardy about this, Dick. At least let me know when the raid is going to happen so either I or some other member of the League can keep an eye on things."

They were sitting on top of the Gotham State Building, Nightwing and Superman. "C'mon, Clark. You know I can handle myself—you're not going all neurotic on me, are you?"

"Hardly likely, but anything happens to you I'd have to deal with Bruce and that wouldn't be pretty."

Dick laughed at that. "Bull, you know you've got him whipped, Mr. Superman, sir."

And Clark also knew the risks Dick was taking here in Bludhaven, risks even Bruce didn't know about. "You've been fingered."

"I know that. It's not like it's the first time or anything. Hell, Joker was out to get me from the time I was like twelve. If I can survive him, I can survive a bunch of frigging drugs importers and dirty cops." He pulled out a jumpline. "C'mon, let's fly."

"I'm serious about this—you can't do this by yourself, you need backup you can count on."

Dick sighed in some exasperation. You thought the Bat was stubborn? Try Superman. Cripes, what was he, a rookie, f'chrissake? "Fine. You want to watch, watch, but don't butt in unless there's a reason—deal?"

Clark knew it was as much as he'd get from the young man. "Deal."

Superman took off; saying something about Lois having dinner ready and Dick smiled at the thought of Superman being this whipped. Well, whatever.

And he needed backup like he needed another hole in his head.

**Tonight**

"I want to know who shot him, Alfred."

"A drug dealer shot him, sire. You know that."

"Are you sure of that?"

**Six weeks Ago**

"I'm telling you, Jake, I'm not sure about this. Grayson's a decent guy; it don't feel right."

"So you're gonna chicken out, that what you're sayin'?"

"No, no—it's just that, you know. It just don't feel right, that's all."

"Okay, Billy. You like the guy? Good for you but I've been tellin' you all along; we go down, you'll go down farther and faster and longer than anyone. You got that?"

"C'mon, Jake, you know you can count on me. You know that, right?"

"Damn well better be able to, is all I'm sayin'"

**Yesterday**

"It's tomorrow, Bruce. The bust; it's tomorrow night and I'll be fine. Cripes, will you lay off? To listen to you, you'd think I'd never run a drug bust before. In fact, you're sounding like an old lady so go for a run, call the bimbo of the week, get laid and relax, will you, for the love of God?"

"Dick, this isn't funny. This gang is a bad one and…"

"And I have Clark watching my back and the Titans and the JLA on speed dial. Chill, will you?"

I'm concerned…"

Bruce…" His voice was losing it's patience. "Someday we'll laugh about this." There was some noise in the background. "Roy's here, we're catching a flick. Later."

"Dick, wait a second…" But he'd already hung up.

**This afternoon**

"Shit, Jake—you can't do that. I mean…shit."

Jake didn't say anything, didn't bother to look up, just kept replacing the kevlar lining in Sergeant Grayson's vest with some heavy, folded upholstery fabric he'd found in a dumpster over in the fashion district. If no one looked too closely the vest was the same it was yesterday or last week. Same covering. Same closings, same weight, same heft.

The only difference was that now it would have the bullet stopping power of cotton fabric.

**Twelve Years Ago**

"Hurts, does it?"

"…It's okay."

They were down in the cave after patrol. Robin had taken a fall from a fire escape and ad twisted his leg pretty badly. There was some blood but the real damage seemed to be a sprain and possibly some strained tendons or ligaments.

"You weren't careful, Dick. You're not careful, you can get hurt."

The kid looked like he wanted to snap out some piece of sarcasm but changed mid-stream and just nodded. "I know."

"Let Alfred take a look at that; he'll know what to do for it and take it easy for a couple of days. You'll be as good as new."

Robin nodded again. "It won't happen again."

Bruce smiled to himself as he walked up the long staircase to the Manor. Dick was probably wrong and it would happen again, but he knew the youngster would do everything he could to prevent it. Next time he'd be more prepared.

**Later Tonight**

The hospital director knocked on his office door again. "Mr. Wayne? Your son is out of surgery and the doctors have removed the bullet. He's not out of danger yet, but this is a good sign."

"I'd like to see him."

"He's in recovery but in as soon as he's ready to move…well, all right. I think it will be fine this one time so long as you don't do anything to disturb him. And you have to understand that he's still under anesthesia and has suffered major trauma."

Wayne nodded and was lead to Recovery by the director, avoiding the crowd of concerned police, reporters and politicians.

Dick was almost as white as the sheet he was covered with. He had oxygen tubes in his nose, IV's in his hand and throat tube in place. He wasn't moving.

The nurse came over. "He's breathing under his own power and his signs are strong. It's still early, but so far it's encouraging."

"Where are the surgeons? I'd like to speak with them if I may."

**A Month Later**

The internal police findings exonerated the officers on the drug raid, maintaining that while the shooting was regrettable, it was an accident and no one was to be held responsible or disciplined. Blame, if blame there must be, was put simply on the chaos of the situation itself and the confusion of the raid.

Sergeant Grayson performed his job admirably and with courage. He was recommended for two citations and it was hoped that BPD would have the good fortune of attracting more officers of his caliber.

On other fronts the bullet which was removed from his chest was misplaced by the evidence officer but a thorough search would be conducted.

**Six Weeks Later**

Officer William Demarest died of what appeared to be a massive heart attack late one night while walking his dog.

By standers said they'd found him collapsed on the sidewalk with the yellow lab standing over him. He seemed frightened and it was assumed that he may have been the victim of a mugging attempt.

BPD officer Jacob Cohen was killed in a one-car accident after an evening of drinking with friends in a local bar.

Sergeant Richard Grayson continued on medical leave but was expected to return to light duty within a few weeks.

For his own safety and over his objections, he was quietly transferred to a different precinct.

5/30/08

15


End file.
